The Well Hungarians Remember April
by Madame Hatter
Summary: One-shot. The fall of the Well Hungarians was due to the death of one of their biggest fans. A different & slightly twisted take on April's suicide and a closer look at the people who cared about her most. Told from different points of view, mostly Roger.


_**Author's Note: I haven't done a heavy piece since my earlier one-shots, so I hope this turns out okay. Like the others, it's a bit dark, if not a little twisted. Please read, criticize, review and most importantly, enjoy.**_

_**Disclaimer: All characters and basic plotlines are rented and are due no later than 7pm tomorrow. **_

**The Well Hungarians Remember April**

I crumple the minigrip bag in my fist, feeling the leftover cocaine between the plastic. The rush has barely begun to peak; it's taking more and more to reach that high, that apex of excitement. Apex? What the fuck? I always know when I've gone over because I'll start talking like Collins. Or worst, Mark.

Pain replaces the rush. I'm sitting against the wall, my head between my knees. I'm attempting to breathe, but it hurts too much. That's the thing about crack. There are only extremes. You take your chance and hope to reach that insane elevation, that thrill, but sometimes if you're not lucky you'll get the other end. The needles poking through my body and worming beneath my skin has never bothered me in the least. That itching and burning inside, and not being able to tear it away pales in comparison to what I'm feeling now. This is worst. The hunger is insatiable and I'm craving badly.

"Come on, April, I've got enough for one tiny hit." I reach out the bag to her. "Take it." She's cross-legged on her coffee table, watching me. Her arms are folded and she's staring at me with sad, hazel eyes.

"I don't want to," she says quietly.

I smile and shake my head. There's something off about her lately. She suddenly waned off the drugs and I can't decide whether that's a good or bad thing. It makes me worry about our relationship. I always love shooting with her; we somehow constantly find ourselves in the craziest shit. I usually buy the smack, but she knows how to persuade the Man to get us the ritzy junk for practically nothing. This is selfish, but I'm not losing my girlfriend, I'm not losing my best friend and I'm not losing my coconspirator.

"Do you think you're better than me?" I ask hoarsely, keeping the smile plastered on my face. I feel the perspiration on my forehead dripping and I bring my hand up to wipe it off. Damn. Even my palms are drenched in sweat.

"What the hell are you talking about, Roger?" she asks sighing. Her expression is full of concern, her frown reaching the bottom of her chin.

"I'm talking about you trying to be clean all of a sudden." I try to get up. I push myself off the ground and feel my knees wobble. I lean my shoulder against the wall, keeping steady. Oh, look, peeling paint. That's fascinating shit, man.

"I just don't feel like it anymore," she says. "I don't like it, the appetite never ends." I hear her stand up, but it's not until her subtle honey-scented fragrance hits my nostrils that I turn to look at her. She looks frustrated and heartbroken at the same time. She places a hand on my cheek, soft and small.

"You better get over this fad," I tell her lightly. "The Man's got something new coming in next week and I want you to try it with me. It's supposed to be wild." She lowers her eyes, her hand still on my face. I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her in, her body warm against mine. I lean over and kiss her full lips. She's reluctant at first, but she gives in slowly. The passion begins to seethe and I press her chest against me, wondering if she could feel my skin through our clothes. Biting her bottom lip, I feel the rush coming back and I know if I'm not going to get it from the drugs, I'm going to get it from her.

I part her mouth with my tongue, the intensity increasing. Her fingernails dig into my arms and I hear her moan a bit. I feel her hand gliding down my chest and slipping underneath my shirt. She roams my body, gentle, gradual and a little hesitant. She's never been so cautious before. I tug the end of her blouse teasingly and then slip my hands inside, following the curve of her waist up. She shudders. She's never shuddered before either, but it sends a chill down my spine.

"Roger, no," she manages to whisper. Her hands escape and she tries to push herself off, but I've got her tightly in my grasp. She likes playing this game, hard-to-get. She eventually always gives in and she lets me take her to another place, another world, where the colors don't match and nothing makes sense.

"Roger, don't do this," she pleads. I can feel her palms on my chest, but it's a game, a ruse, carefully planned and crafted. Then she does something out of routine and begins to use her legs. Was she trying to break away? I pin her against the wall, trying to hold her hands down. I can tell she wants it just as much as I do, she can't fool me. She can make the room spin, but she can't fool me.

"You know, you're only making it worse," I whisper darkly into her ear. I see her mouth move, but something has deafened me at the moment. All I can see is her body and how good it'll feel to be inside her. I reacquaint myself with her shape, her breasts, her neck, her shoulders, sucking and tasting the rush, the thrill, the high. I feel her struggle, some light shoving, but the more she resists, the closer our bodies became.

It's not until our lips meet again that I realize something's wrong. I taste salt, wet and bitter. I feel cold tears on the side of her face. I draw back, horror-stricken. She's been sobbing in my arms and I hadn't the clue.

"April, I'm sorry." I want to comfort her, but I'm afraid if I take her in my arms, I'll lose her forever. The room continues to spin, but my eyes remain fixed on her. She's holding her blouse down with one hand as if she doesn't want me to ever touch her again, and clasping her mouth with the other, trying to retain her sobs.

"What have I turned you into?" she says so quietly it's barely audible. I stand there, wondering what she means.

xoxoxo

I loved my bong. When I could help it, I kept its pipe between my lips and I sucked it like a baby sucked its pacifier. It was like my security blanket, the teddy bear that comforted me. It sounded childish and a little sick, but that was honestly how I saw it. The way the smoke encircled my tongue and slithered into my lungs were so raw and beautiful. Ash, the rest of the band said, you're a fucking loon. Be a man.

April understood me. She thought it was poetic. She always thought we should be perpetually stoned; it would make the world a better place, she used to say. I remembered after a few rounds, she would be able to pick up John Locke and discuss philosophy and government with Collins like it was nothing. I couldn't believe she was gone.

One hit to forget the pain. Another to hasten the process. The third to life. That was what she had told me after she gave me her favorite bong. The one I held between my lips.

"I think you need this more than I do," I remembered her saying at the subway. She had found me a week earlier playing my keyboard for spare change.

"It'll be weeks until I can afford even a grain of reefer," I had told her. The water pipe was small, a glassy, Persian blue, round and fat at its base.

"And when you can, it'll be amazing because your taste buds won't be on fire," she had said. A few days after that, she introduced me to her boyfriend. That was how I became the keyboardist for the Well Hungarians.

I stepped back inside the empty club where we were doing sound check and left my bong on a table near the entrance. She was gone, but life still moved on. We had shows booked in advanced and Roger didn't want to cancel. In fact, he arranged an extra rehearsal today. Yeah. We were all thinking, what the fuck?

"Damn it, Snaps!" Something broke. Glass, I think. I looked up and saw Roger shove our bassist. "You don't understand! You don't." When it seemed like he was going to push her again, I hurried over and restrained him from behind, both arms around his waist and holding tight. "Let go of me, Ashley!"

"Cool it, Rog, come on," I said. He was strong and I could feel his anger about to burst through his veins. "What happened?"

"I don't know, I don't know," said Snaps, frightened. Usually, she wasn't afraid of anything. "I just said, maybe we could, you know, take some time off because of what happened, I knew it was hard, and he just blew, he just blew."

"Ash, let _go_ of me!" demanded Roger, his elbows hitting my ribs.

"You gotta calm down, first, man," I said, tightening my grip. "Maybe Snaps is right, maybe we should take a break from this. We should remember April—" before I could finish my sentence, my head twisted left and a loud crack resonated in my ears. It felt as if my jaw was ripped right off. My mouth filled with blood, my vision went in and out for a moment.

"Remember April?" I heard Roger scream. "Remember April? I can't get her out of my head! I can't…" His breathing became heavy, as if he was trying to suppress his emotion. I saw Snaps wrap him in her arms and he submitted. "It's all my fault, this is my fault, my fault. I was there, I was right there and I couldn't save her because I was too fucking high to d—" He silently cried. I held my jaw in place. It hurt but I couldn't even imagine the pain Roger was feeling. "She left a note. She said we've got AIDS. She went to see the doctor the other week, but I didn't think…"

"You sure you've got it?" asked Snaps softly. "Did you get tested?"

He shook his head. "I gotta have it. We'd use a condom occasionally… occasionally. We shared needles."

I froze. So did we.

xoxoxo

"I feel fine," she said. I knew she was tired. Her hair fell over her eyes, her hands were resting on the bump on her tummy. I placed my hand on hers.

"We have to get you and the baby checked," I said with a reassuring smile.

"But, your brother is expecting us to be home at dinner tonight and, I… we…" She was making excuses. I knew she was scared. The doctor came out and called her in and she looked at me one more time. She sighed in defeat.

"Want me to come with you?" I asked.

"No, it's okay." She never wanted me to come in with her. She said she felt uncomfortable talking about her body in front of me. She was sort of quirky that way.

"I'm going outside to get some fresh air. I'll be back in half an hour," I said. She stared back with a pout on her lips. If this was another planet, another dimension, I would have found it cute. Instead, it killed my spirit. I knew I wanted this baby more than she did. I watched the doctor escort her inside his office before taking the stairwell.

I couldn't admit it to Grace, but I just felt so wrong in that maternity ward. I hated the odd stares. Yeah, I expected people to stare at the guy from Alphabet City who had moved in with his brother and his wife, a seemingly normal couple, in Staten Island And he brought his girlfriend with him, also seemingly normal, but look—she was knocked up! Scandal, scandal. If only April was here. She'd cling on to my arm and say I was the best drummer in all of Manhattan. No matter what the occasion, that was what she'd say. And it always made me feel better.

Damn. I should be back at home, playing gigs, relishing the crowd reciting "Well Hungarians, Well Hungarians…" There should be a line of women in front with my name tattooed across their chests. I should be smoking a bong with Ash, playing beer pong with Roger and Chuck, beating Snaps' high score in Pac-Man. I should be teaching April how to ride a motorcycle. She always said she wanted a brother to teach her how to ride a bike.

I should have at least left a note. I should have at least given Roger a ring. Fuck me. I never did as I should.

Somehow I ended up near the emergency department. Now this was more like it. This was home. I've been in the emergency room more times I could count, but the time I remembered most was that day I tried to run away from home. I climbed out of my windowsill, slipped off the roof and crashed into the hood of my dad's old Mustang.

"Alex?" someone called.

I looked up. Oh my God. What the fuck was he doing here? He approached, limping, his right eye bruised, purple and blue. From the tag around his wrist, I figured he just got out of the ER. "Chuck, what are you doing in Staten?"

"No," he said spitefully. "What are _you_ doing in Staten, Alex?"

I cracked my knuckles nervously. I didn't want to tell him. I mean, who could possibly comprehend that I was actually trying to be responsible for once? They wouldn't believe me. "I was meaning to call—"

"You disappeared, Alex!" he shouted. "We didn't know where the fuck you were!"

"Chuck—"

"We even considered that, man, Alex, he's one dumb shit, he probably went out of town to get us some _good_ drugs because if he went to TJ to get _his_ marijuana—"

"Fuck, you know I only do Mary J," I said trying to lighten the mood.

"But, no, you're in fucking Staten where you can't even get high off the Elmer's glue!" He was turning red now, the vein on his forehead pulsating. They probably didn't let him smoke his cigs in the hospital, which was why he was so short-tempered.

I wanted to rough him up and tell him to get off my back. But, I knew I couldn't. If I wanted to be any type of father, I had to keep my composure. "Are you finished?" I asked.

This took him aback. I knew what he was thinking. Who was this prissy piece of shit thinking his farts smelt better than everyone else's? I was disgusted with myself as well.

"No," he said, almost laughing. He took out his pack and lit a cigarette. "You're a coward. You didn't want to deal with whatever the fuck was happening at home so you went to Staten. You've got a brother here, right? Pathetic."

Screw etiquette and good manners. I took a step forward and pushed him. He stumbled backwards, surprised. The cigarette fell out of his mouth. I drew closer. "You know nothing about me," I said lowly. "I've got shit to deal with. The world doesn't revolve around Alphabet City, I've got baggage."

His eyes were expressionless. He reached out for another cigarette and inserted it between his lips. He put a lighter in front of him and inhaled. "Fine." He exhaled the smoke. "I'll just tell Roger his best friend has more important things to do than be there for him."

What was he on about? He turned to walk off but I caught him by the shoulders. "What's your beef, Chuck?" This guy was just as good at getting on your nerves as he was with showing off his guitar licks. I didn't know how I put up with him as a bandmate.

He shook his head and looked at his shoes. He took a breath and exhaled shakily. It suddenly turned cold and silent. Something was wrong. I felt it abruptly in the air, in my heart. Something had happened back home. Suddenly, I was afraid.

"He keeps reliving the moment, so fresh in his mind… She asked for you, Alex, she _asked_ for you…" He babbled, but the cigarette kept him occupied. I was confused. What had I missed? His gaze locked with mine and I could see tears in his eyes. "April's dead. She committed suicide."

The words reverberated like notes to a song. I wished this moment were like the others, when I found out how my mother died, when I found out dad was dying… surreal at first, taking days to sink in. But, April… it was so immediate. It felt so painfully real.

"What?" I couldn't swallow it. This wasn't possible. And I left, I left while everyone was suffering back home. I should be a part of that pain. What was I supposed to do?

xoxoxo

She runs. I don't know why, but she sprints up the stairs to the loft. I call out her name, April, and try to follow her, but she's bewitched the whole fucking apartment building. Everything spins, round and round, and the steps grow longer and longer. Is the apartment flying? The altitude, the air, so thin. My body hits the railing, my body hits the walls and I almost fall because the walls don't have handles, it don't have handles. Why don't the walls have fucking handles? Round and round we go.

I barely make it into my loft without a scratch. I feel sick and dizzy. I can hear the faucet running in the bathroom, filling my eardrums. Strange. That faucet barely gives me enough water for a good shave. I stagger to the bathroom door and my hand slips onto the knob.

"April, let me in," I beg. This is a really ugly doorknob. A buttermilk colored knob would match the cracked walls so much better.

"Roger… please, go away," I hear her say.

"But, I really, really need to go pee," I say, my lips pressed to the doorframe. "April…"

"God, Roger." I hear her soft weeping. She's being careful, I can tell, letting the running water drown her cries. But, I can hear her. Don't you know? Cocaine gives you super-hearing.

I press my shoulder against the door, hoping somehow it would magically fly open. Instead, I slide down, slump to the floor and pound, pound, pound. "Let… me… in," I chant slowly. The sounds get louder, the water, her crying, they're all yelling in my ears. I close my eyes tightly and try to shut out the noise. I concentrate and my mind transforms the noise into a full orchestra symphony. I fall asleep to its rendition of _O soave fanciulla _from Puccini's _La Boheme_.

Act two ends. It's the first intermission. Or the second. I can't remember. It's extremely quiet except for the headache throbbing in my temple. I sit back against the door and cringe when my fingernails involuntarily graze the floor. I'm at the loft. Right. Man, that trip was shit. I'm never riding coach again.

I feel something warm beneath my fingers. It feels thick and a little sticky. My stomach lurches when I bring my head down—blood. A canal of red flows from under the door. No, it can't be…

"April!" I shout, pounding on the wood. "April, can you hear me? _April_!"

There's a tiny whimper. It's faint, but I hear it. Please, talk to me. "Where's Alex?"

"I'll find him," I say quickly. He's been missing for days now, but I have to lie. "I'll find him, April, just… April?"

_**Author's Note: It's a one-shot for now… I realize there are still other POVs I haven't covered. But, I hope you guys liked it! And the rest of the band is a spin off another story called "Still in the Dark." Have a look if you're interested. Thank you so much!**_


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